


Creak Like Mattress Springs

by talksmaths



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Ryden, Smut, Unrequited Love, camboy!ryan, sex worker!ryan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 01:45:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15426336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talksmaths/pseuds/talksmaths
Summary: Ryan is a camboy trying to make ends meet. Brendon is looking for a certain kind of love.





	Creak Like Mattress Springs

" _Mmm...fuck..._ "

Brendon's jaw dropped nearly to his chest. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

" _Oh, B..._ "

Brendon failed to suppress a moan.

On his laptop screen, Arthur's eyes rolled back into his head, moments away from coming. He was fucking himself, riding a dildo on the floor and fisting his cock in erratic jerks. Brendon's face was burning, face dripping with sweat. He watched Arthur roll his head, loosening his neck and shoulders. Doing this exposed his sharp collarbones beneath soft skin. Brendon wanted to put them between his teeth, tear up his neck, leave scratches down his chest.

Brendon managed to hold out until Arthur came. Barely.

Panting, chest heaving, Arthur offered a grin. It was both smug and shy, proud and pleased. It left Brendon wanting to discover just how he could destroy Arthur, or--

Brendon blinked, shook his head at the thought and closed his computer.

\--or how Arthur could destroy him.

Brendon put his hands in his hair, grimacing momentarily at the sweat beading at his roots. He felt gross, but he loved it. Lived for it. 

_God, how Arthur said my name..._

Brendon swallowed, cleaned himself up with his t-shirt from the floor, and left the room. It wasn't quite his name--he didn't want to give it away--but he just  _melted_ at hearing Arthur's vocal cords choke out the one sound, just for him. Just because he'd asked. 

Arthur almost said his name, and it had turned him on more than any dirty talk he'd ever heard before.

Brendon made his way to the kitchen of his apartment and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. The coolness made the sensation of sweat and come and filth even more prevalent; it stood out brighter and louder in contradiction. He loved it all even more.

From his bedroom, Brendon could hear his phone ding once--not a text, but an online message. He knew exactly what site.

Brendon crushed the plastic bottle and rubbed both hands over his face. He was tired, but, fuck, he wasn't about to stop.


End file.
